Out-of-the-box

For many years now, once every few months, I would try testing my ability to resist temptation or my favorite impulses, be it for food, entertainment, word-usage, colors, what not, just as a way to see just how much I can rein in my urge to give in to a habit or simply to force myself to try something new, a flavor, a hobby, or challenge a pre-conceived notion or check the extent of my reliance on something. And it has worked beautifully in the past and many good things have come of it. For instance, I discovered the joys of the radio after the TV was turned off. My day could begin without coffee (!), I could wake up without the alarm, (beige is an under-sung color) tomato juice simply delicious...
The one thing I haven't subjected to this test is my impulse, nay, near-addiction to checking my inbox every 10 seconds! So, here goes. For the next few weeks, I shall begin by only checking email once an hour (Yeah! I know! What has the world come to! Sigh).
Next up (if I don't die of withdrawal symptoms): rely on my (ever-faithful) memory to dial numbers on the mobile (drat it all) phone.
Happy weekend my dears! :)

immersion...

"Those who visit foreign nations, but who associate only with their own countrymen, change their climate, but not their customs; they see new meridians, but the same men; and with heads as empty as their pockets, return home with traveled bodies, but untraveled minds." -Colton (1780-1832)

This quote was shared by a friend and has been well worth thinking about for me, in terms of how accepting I am of new cultures and ideas, how open I am to change and different ways of thinking about things. More importantly it has been useful to ask myself, how objective am I to new frameworks and attitudes that challenge my existing beliefs, especially those that are self-limiting or based entirely on a narrowly defined space of observation and knowledge. This quote challenges me to step outside my comfort zone, accept things for the essential goodness and truth in them, not for their superficial association with familiarity, and at all times to keep from being judgemental...

Last Friday when I left work, the sprinklers were just starting up, to lavish its showers upon the manicured lawns outside the mini-Biotech park at Seaport; the grass green as ever, the sun beating down fiercely, the leaves still sitting pretty atop the trees. Well, see you Tuesday, I thought to myself.
The new week stole upon us during the long weekend and has also nearly ended. And what do I see this evening as I rush to catch the shuttle? The little green mound on which we wait for our bus, is hidden under a carpet of brilliant golden yellow leaves, maple-like, small and large, crisp and dry. For a moment I was startled. They were just beautiful! Like someone had burst open and sprinkled a bag of crepe stars over the green turf for it to dazzle and play in the sunlight.
Fall is here!

The great grandpa tree has been felled... In it's place now lies earth that has been dug out and mounds of wet mud scattered around. Scraps of wood clutter the path where the grass had been. The whole park seems to be in mourning; the squirrels must sorely miss their giant wooded play ground with it's sculpted trunk and serpentine branches, thick and strong, and the foliage dense and inviting; the dogs haven't come out to play, the birds haven't chirped as much. Perhaps it is all in my imagination? It must not be. The emptiness cries out aloud as I turn the corners of the library on my evening walk, I have to force myself to look away and content myself with the other trees, some younger, just beginning to establish themselves into the ground around the periphery of the park, and others a little older, their leaves downcast and sorrowful; the torchbearers for future generations of children to shade themselves under, birds to teasingly chase scampering squirrels down from and for wisdom to provide to the tender little grass-lings swaying gently in the wind.
No, there shan't be that waft of eucalyptus to tingle my senses with the breeze. There will no longer be the live mural behind the windows of the library in the children's corner. The sunlight streaming in now, unobstructed, seems a harsh reminder of what we've lost. A monument that endured for a century despite what killed it from within, an atrocity we wreaked on it. Yet forgiving and ever gracious, it stood by and smiled upon us gently. Just like a grandparent does a mischievous grandchild...
Dear, dear great grandpa tree, we miss you!